Tiresome man.

Netepel thought as he disposed of the handkerchief that had touched the face of Brinwell’s second prince onto the tray held by the servant.

Masaran Rognack, born inherently weak, whined incessantly. Though enduring it was more useful to listen, Netepel inherently did not get along with such people.

It wasn’t because he cried and showed weakness.

Netepel did not think it was wrong to show vulnerability to someone. In some situations, being weak was more useful than being strong.

What he could not stand was Masaran’s incompetence and lack of direction.

How could a person be so incapable of growth?

Masaran, with considerable trauma regarding his dead brother, seemed to think the whole world hated only him.

But no matter how much he claimed his own hardships, Netepel could not empathize with him.

Masaran did not truly know what it meant to be hated.

For a man born a prince and raised without a drop of water on his hands, marrying a woman inferior to his brother’s wife was the most tragic thing in life. It was the typical behavior of an incompetent man, blaming others for his own lack of potential.

So he lives only to hear his father call him pathetic. Netepel clicked his tongue softly as he rose from the seat the other had just left.

Masaran thought that King Nasda only despised his second son, but that wasn’t true. Though King Nasda thought his second son was worthless, he loved him in his own way. If he hadn’t, he would have beheaded him long ago with that temperament.

It was just that losing the heir he had groomed for half his life was somewhat bitter to experience in his twilight years.

“If so, at least Hator would be alive.”

That statement came out in that context.

Showering love doesn’t suddenly make an incompetent son competent. Moreover, King Nasda was already too old to raise a new heir.

“I’ll barely see next year and that’ll be the end.”

That’s what King Nasda had said after Masaran, hurt by his father’s words, left the room.

“Even that would be fortunate.”

Though thinking it would be a good death considering the old man’s age, Netepel put on a grieved expression appropriate to the situation. Such pretense was as natural to him as breathing.

“You must endure longer.”

“I know my own body well. No need for flattery.”

But if he hadn’t flattered, King Nasda would have been displeased. Losing his son, losing the war. Shocked into preserving his position, the old man’s inherent shrewdness had greatly dimmed.

Thus, he had changed like a commoner and showed sentimental sides he would never have shown before. It was as if all the years that hadn’t flowed until now had suddenly overwhelmed him.

Having never observed the twilight years of someone in such a high position so closely before, Netepel found King Nasda’s changes quite interesting.

The decline, progressing faster than he had anticipated, was closer to a crash than a fade. The one who had stood at the apex of a group certainly became ordinary in a more insignificant way than imagined.

The problem was that the irritation was as considerable as the interest in that process.

That damned lamentation and regret.

Netepel could not understand why people cling to such things. No, to be precise, everyone who clung to such things looked pathetic to him.

Looking back on the past was something only the well-fed did.

Of course, it’s foolish to repeat the same mistakes.

But developing and dwelling on the past while being bound to it were different. The latter was the complete opposite of the former.

And regression occurs among those who are comfortable enough not to need to move forward. Just as a bird living in the abundance of a cage forgets how to fly, people are the same.

Still, he hadn’t imagined that even someone who seemed quite cold-blooded like King Nasda would change.

This is why those raised being revered from birth are like this. Netepel had inwardly shaken his head watching the aging of the man who would soon become the late king. It was disgusting how even someone who had reigned over a country for a lifetime could become so soft.

If he were to stand at the apex and endure the flowing time, Netepel could guarantee the same thing wouldn’t happen.

The commonality between King Nasda and Prince Masaran was that neither had ever experienced true rock bottom.

Walking out of the garden into the corridor, Netepel ignored the voice echoing in his head.

After Brinwell’s defeat in the war, the god who had been silent for a while reappeared. Only to mock him.

But even while saying that, the god did not leave him. Of course, those words were also meant to provoke him and make him move according to its will.

Netepel had no intention of falling for such petty provocations.

The god couldn’t leave him anyway.

While the god was figuring out what he desired, Netepel had also figured it out. At first, it was due to awe and fear, and after experiencing its impatience and capriciousness, it was to gain control of the relationship.

That formless being, who introduced itself as desire, always urged him to yearn for more desperately.

The object didn’t matter.

To desire and desire more.

Through that demand, Netepel realized that his desire was quite important to the god. No, perhaps what was important to it was desire itself.

And there was no one else in the world who could desire something like him.

There was always an unquenchable ember in his heart.

Ophelia.

Silently uttering the name that could no longer be spoken aloud where there were watching eyes, Netepel stopped by a window in the gallery. The winter sunlight streaming through the glass shone down on his face.

His childhood friend, who had become cold-hearted due to either time or marriage, had pushed him away so cruelly.

Bahamal, his most loyal servant, had said that because of that attitude, he should no longer be interested in Ophelia.

But if it was a heart that could cool with one rejection, he wouldn’t have started in the first place.

For Ophelia, Netepel could throw away even his pride. Catering to Prince Leden’s whims was proof of that.

That man, who had fled through death without repaying his debt, was truly incompetent and foolish, but Netepel bowed his head before him several times despite knowing this. It was because Ophelia’s whereabouts were in his hands.

It wasn’t just pride. For Ophelia, he wouldn’t hesitate even at acts like murder or adultery.

It didn’t matter that Ophelia already had a husband and had likely shared flesh with him. Such flaws were acceptable for Ophelia. While another man might not, he could embrace her sufficiently.

The blood of Runtalis and the throne of Egelvamot were all for Ophelia as well. To defeat Aglante, who had usurped the order, he needed to become at least an emperor.

Though that plan had been considerably derailed recently with Brinwell’s defeat in the war.

Having invested considerable wealth, Brinwell’s defeat was painful for him too. Especially since he hadn’t thought that someone as experienced as King Nasda would lose to a man not yet thirty.

Still, the situation wasn’t entirely hopeless just because they had lost.

With Mahanas dying almost simultaneously with the palace’s fall, Leden Kingdom became Ophelia’s. Though she apparently couldn’t leave Brinwell due to some circumstances, there were several people who could relay information, so Netepel knew that Ophelia was searching for Mevasa’s sacred relic.

Now that the Grand Prince had returned, the relic should be in her hands by now.

And Ophelia having the sacred relic meant that she would become the new ruler of Leden.

Of course, given her status as Grand Princess, she wouldn’t go down to Leden.

But what matters is justification.

By claiming the throne that was originally meant for the Leden prince, Ophelia also inherited the obligation to repay her brother’s debts.

And most of the debts Mahanas owed were his.

Though not an amount difficult to repay as a Grand Princess, given the large sum, direct coordination would be necessary.

If he could make contact with Ophelia that way, he would turn her heart even if it meant bowing his head again.

As he was looking out the window with such thoughts, someone approached him. Netepel raised an eyebrow as he turned his head to confirm the person’s identity.

“Bahamal?”

Bahamal had been away on an assigned task for a while.

His return meant there must be something to report regarding that.

As expected, Bahamal approached closely and said in a low voice.

“Your Highness, I have something to report.”

Realizing he wanted a place away from prying eyes, Netepel gestured with his chin towards the path they had come.

“The garden should be empty now.”

The servants should have finished tidying up and left by now.

And Netepel started walking towards the garden. Bahamal followed behind him.

Finally reaching a place without people, Bahamal spoke.

“We’ve received word from the Aglante lords. They say a royal investigator has come down to the south due to Lord Rohos’s death.”

“It seems the matter is growing larger than expected.”

Even though it was handled to be covered up as an accidental death, for the royal family to send someone meant it had.

But it doesn’t matter if the issue grows. After all, it’s the southern lords who will take the fall.

Bahamal didn’t seem to have sought a secluded place just to say that.

After hesitating for a moment, he added.

“We’ve received word from Tanel.”